Bioshock: Constants and Variables
by The Incredible Muffin
Summary: They knew it would happen eventually. They knew that they would pulled in for one last job, to save all of time and space. But Booker and Elizabeth hadn't expected to be separated. Now, in a new city, with new dangers, they must find each other once again. This time, though, they'll have a little help.
1. Booker and the Sort-Of Unexpected Trip

**BIOSHOCK DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MESSING WITH SPACE AND TIME IS SOMETHING I ONLY DO IN MY OFF HOURS. BE GRATEFUL I DON'T DO IT MORE OFTEN.**

 **So… wow, it has been a while, hasn't it? I can almost hear you shouting at me that it's about bloody time I started this story. You're right. However, other stories had my attention, and the idea for this sequel underwent many idea changes. Just know that I never forgot about this, I promise.**

 **Anyway, enjoy!**

Bioshock: Constants and Variables

Chapter 1

Booker and the Sort-Of Unexpected Trip

Enemy on the left, aiming a shotgun. I fired twice, catching him in the throat, and he went down.

"Booker, that one's got a grenade!" Elizabeth pointed in the direction of said grenadier.

A three-round burst from me, and then there was no more grenadier. Then a rocket sailed overhead, and I ducked. I traced the rocket's path back to its origin and saw a guy reloading his launcher. I didn't have any ammo left for my rifle, so I pulled out my pistol and fired until the poor sap stopped moving.

"I think there's one behind you," Elizabeth warned, hands clenched tightly from her position next to me.

"Yeah, I know," I said, not even looking as I reloaded my pistol; switching back to the rifle and reloading it would take too much time.

I never saw it coming—one second, I was about to turn and look for the guy who got away, the next, I heard a bang, and it was over.

"Son of a bitch," I groaned, watching the instant replay show the guy who'd snuck off put a bullet in my head. "Stupid snipers!"

"I know, I know, they're the bane of your existence," Elizabeth said, not sounding the slightest bit sympathetic. "Now hand me the controller, it's my turn."

I sighed, but dutifully gave her the controller for the Xbox One. The deal was to switch off every time the other died, but it annoyed me that my turns were always shorter than Elizabeth's.

"You'd think I'd be better at this," I muttered as Elizabeth respawned. "I mean, I've fought people to the death in real life."

"Maybe you're not as good at this as you think you are," Elizabeth said, then proceeded to kill four enemy players in as many seconds.

"You're lucky I love you," I told her, then got up off the couch. "You want anything from the kitchen?"

"Some water," Elizabeth said, then glanced at me and smirked. "Keeping you alive as long as I have is murder on the throat."

I stuck my tongue out at her, then headed for the kitchen.

…

Nearly three years of peace and good times. Honestly, I think Elizabeth and I were both surprised it had lasted so long. After escaping Columbia, we spent a few weeks traveling Europe and, er, 'decompressing' with each other. It wasn't until things calmed down that we started wondering if our relationship was more than the heat of the moment. Thankfully, after spending time together that didn't involve running for our lives, killing people who wanted to kill _us_ , and traveling through time, we found that we really enjoyed being together.

Without a place to call her own, Elizabeth moved in with me in my nice apartment in New York City. We'd have fun in the city, or sometimes travel overseas, usually to Europe. For anyone else, it would have been a storybook ending.

Too bad there was a catch. You see, in order to have a life with me, Elizabeth had to promise two time-traveling twins—or something, their very existence confused the hell out of me—to do a favor for them. We didn't know what that favor was, or when it would be called in. With that hanging over our heads, we had to prepare.

Elizabeth wanted to know more about her powers, and what she was capable of, but without a way to safely test her ability to open holes in space and time—not without getting the government involved, something neither of us were comfortable with—she settled for the next best thing. She'd been taking online classes about advanced quantum mechanics, and basically a dozen other subjects that went way over my head. Apparently, her understanding of the concepts was better than some of the professors, so she was earning her doctorate in record time.

What both of us did, however, was physically prepare. We went to the gym three times a week, and I called in a friend of mine from the Columbia incident, one of the Marines who'd helped me, to teach us how to really fight. We took shooting lessons, and though Elizabeth was reluctant to use a gun, she was a damn good shot.

Still, it was only when we were actually training that we thought about what would eventually happen. When we were home, all we cared about was being with each other. It's sappy, I know, but after all the crap we went through in Columbia, and spending almost three years living together, it was hard not to be a bit devoted.

I know I didn't mind, at least.

…

"Here you go," I said, handing Elizabeth her water.

"Thanks," she said, managing to kill a guy with a grenade while taking a sip.

"Show-off," I muttered, then sat next to her.

"I got that from you," she said, then scooted onto my lap. "You're a bad influence."

I didn't dignify that with a response; besides, Elizabeth's hair was in my face. After Columbia, she had let her hair grow out again, and now it reached just past her shoulders. You would not believe the night I had when I told her that I thought her long hair was sexy.

Despite growing up in the early 1900s, Elizabeth had adapted to modern life quite well. Technology had been easy for her, but it was the rest that threw her off at first; she had been scandalized when she saw what women wore in America these days. Thankfully, she'd gotten used to it; at the moment, she was wearing a pair of short shorts and a t-shirt, things she had openly stared at when she first saw them.

Elizabeth huffed in annoyance; after I moved her hair out of my view, I saw that someone had finally killed her. Wrapping my arms around her, I grabbed the controller and put my chin on her shoulder.

"You're going to play like this?" she asked. "Won't I distract you?"

"Eh, it would be worth it," I said; that got me a quick kiss on the cheek. "I love you too."

We switched back and forth for a while, but it was getting late. Finally, Elizabeth started dozing off on my lap, so I shut down the game and carried her to the bedroom. It wasn't long before we were both asleep.

I keep wishing that what happened next was all a dream.

…

The first sign that something was wrong was that Elizabeth wasn't next to me when I woke up. I had had a nightmare about Columbia—even after three years, one of us usually had one every few nights—and sat upright, panting heavily and drenched in sweat. Normally, the one who had a nightmare was immediately wrapped in the arms of the one who didn't, but Elizabeth's side of the bed was empty.

"Elizabeth?" I looked around, and for one horrible moment, I thought that maybe everything that had happened had been in my head, and that I was living alone. A quick check on my hand, minus the x-shaped scar that my parents had given me and Elizabeth had removed, proved that I wasn't crazy.

"She is no longer here, Mister DeWitt," a familiar, and unwelcome, female voice said.

I reached out and turned on the lights; standing just beyond the foot of the bed was Rosalind and Robert Lutece, the twins who had set up my insane journey through hell. I briefly considered pulling out the pistol I had hidden behind the headboard and shooting them, but dismissed it. As much as I hated their intrusion in any part of my life, they weren't evil. Just dicks.

And then Rosalind's words registered in my semi-awake brain. "What are you talking abou—oh. Oh, shit, why wasn't I woken up for this!?"

Robert gave me a sympathetic look—or as close as he got to sympathetic, anyway. "Our task for the both of you requires that you start at different points in the story, Mister DeWitt. Rest assured, Miss Lamb is capable of defending herself. You, however, must first reach her."

Damn it. I had always known that this day would come, but I had assumed that Elizabeth and I would start this mess together. Now she was who-knows-where, and I had to find her. I didn't like the idea of her being somewhere dangerous without me; the last time we'd been separated, she'd been tortured.

I took a deep breath. "So… what do I have to do?" There was no point trying to get out of this. Elizabeth was alone, and I wasn't going to abandon her; besides, trying to back out of a deal with people who were basically Time Lords wouldn't be the smartest move of my life.

There was a bag on my lap that wasn't there a second ago. "You'll need these clothes to fit in," Rosalind said. "Find the man named Jack—"

"And keep him alive," Robert finished; I hated when they did that.

Without speaking, I grabbed the bag and went to the bathroom; thankfully, the shield that I had acquired in Columbia—that the twins had given me, in fact—still worked, and wiped away the sweat. By the time I was in the bathroom, I looked like I'd taken a shower.

The new clothes were… interesting. There was a pair of dark-blue pants, black shoes, a grey button-up shirt, and a dark-blue jacket. If there had been a fedora and a tie, I'd have almost looked the part of a detective from a few decades ago. They were also comfortable, and were more durable than I'd first assumed.

I came back out wearing my new clothes, and grinned. "So, how do I look?"

"Like you will blend in," Robert said.

Rosalind smirked. "Or perhaps you won't, and then you'll die."

"There's a good chance that he'll die either way," Robert pointed out.

At that point, I started to tune them out; I was used to this crap from them by now, and they'd focus on me when I was relevant to them again. While they yammered on about stuff that made my brain hurt, I fished out the pistol; it was one of two things I'd kept from Columbia, along with some ammo. It wasn't much, but I also had my skyhook, which Elizabeth had modified to be collapsible, and all of my Vigors. I'd done more with less.

"Oh, it appears he's ready." Rosalind actually looked impatient.

"Hey, I was waiting for you guys," I said. "So, how's this going to start?"

"Well, I would recommend that you keep your weapons hidden, at least for the moment," Robert said.

"You know, I'm actually okay with that, because it means people probably aren't going to kill me five minutes in." I sighed. "I'm giving it ten minutes, tops."

The twins actually had the decency to look sheepish, if only for a second.

"It will help if you close your eyes," Rosalind said, and held out her hand.

I hesitated for a moment. I was about to leave my home, the place I'd finally felt safe, all to go somewhere that would likely involve everyone in a fifty-mile radius trying to kill me. But Elizabeth was already there, which meant that I had to go too.

"This _is_ the last time, right?" I put my hand in Rosalind's.

"That's entirely up to you," Robert said.

"Wait, what—"

And then everything went white.

…

Ow. Ow, ow, _ow_! Why does time-travel/whatever-the-twins-did have to be so fucking bright!? I thought I'd been blinded!

Okay, first things first, I couldn't see well. I was sitting on a cushioned seat, which might have been… vibrating? It was also fairly quiet, though I could hear a hum somewhere. A mechanical hum, not the musical kind.

Finally, my vision cleared. I wished it hadn't, because I just realized that I was on a _plane_. I hate planes. I hate flying. I have hated those things ever since Columbia shot me out of the sky, and all the other height-related near-death experiences I'd had. And now I was in a… oh, crap, it wasn't even a modern plane, if the décor was any indication. This thing was decades older than what I was used to.

Okay, no big deal, I could do this. All I had to do was stay calm, wait for the plane to land, find this 'Jack', help him out, and find Elizabeth. Oh, and make sure we make it home alive. Easy.

And then everything exploded.

I don't know what happened, really. One second, everything was fine; the next, I was falling out of the sky and into the ocean below. I hit the water hard, though my shield took the brunt of the impact. I swam to the surface, trying to get my bearings, only to see a large chunk of the plane falling towards me.

"Oh, shit!"

I'd never tried to use my Charge Vigor in water before, but I didn't want to test my shield against a giant chunk of metal that had gravity on its side. An instant before the debris hit, I flew through the water like a torpedo; all I got was a face full of water.

Okay, immediate danger was over, but I was still in the middle of the ocean. I needed to find out—oh, look, a lighthouse! That was convenient. It took me a minute, but I made it to the shore.

"That's it," I said to myself, "no more plane rides. Ever."

I heard someone coughing, and my first thought was that it might be Elizabeth, but I realized that it was too deep, nothing at all like her. Is it weird that I know her quirks so well, even the sound of her cough? Probably, but I don't like to think about it too hard.

"Hey, buddy, you okay?" I asked as I hurried over to the guy that was dragging himself ashore.

Other than being soaked, the guy looked unhurt. He had brown hair, decent features, though that jaw looked like it could cut glass. He wore a grey sweater and brown pants; call me petty, but I thought my outfit was cooler. He seemed pretty normal, but then again, my standards for normality were different than most—after all, I'd seen steampunk old people and guys who could shoot flocks of crows from their arms.

"I'm—" the guy coughed up more seawater, then tried again. "I'm fine. How… how did we survive that?"

"I'm still working on what 'that' was," I admitted. "Any idea what happened?"

"There was an explosion… I think." The guy rubbed his head. "Ugh, everything hurts."

"That'll happen when you fall out of an exploding plane and smack into the ocean." I didn't have much light, and I didn't want to freak him out by using my Devil's Kiss, so I had to make due and look at his eyes. "You might have a mild concussion, can't be sure. What's your name?"

"Uh, Jack."

Well… that was fast. No last name, though, huh? Okay, I'll let that slide for now. After all, I found the guy before I had to kill anyone, so things were going faster than the last time. "What's the date?"

"May ninth, nineteen-sixty."

Well, it was better than 1912, but it was still before the age of Star Wars. What a sad time that was.

"All right, Jack, my name is Booker DeWitt. I don't know about you, but this is turning into a really shitty day, not helped by the fact that it's cold and wet outside." I hoped he didn't notice that my shield kept me nice and dry. I'd answer that question later, but I didn't want to do that now. "Seeing as how it sucks out here, I suggest we head for that lighthouse."

Jack looked up and, apparently, noticed the lighthouse. "Maybe we can call for help from there!"

"Maybe." But my luck has never been that good.

After making sure that Jack could walk on his own—actually, he probably didn't have a concussion after all, because he was walking it off rather quickly—we headed for the lighthouse. It took exactly two seconds for my 'something is horrible' sense to go off.

For starters, the outside of the lighthouse was too nice. It looked like we were going up marble stairs, not concrete, and the lanterns were of really high quality. I didn't even see seagull crap anywhere. Then, when we got inside, it got even creepier—gold and red velvet are not what I think of when I picture the interior of a lighthouse.

Then there was the giant gold statue of some guy, with a red banner underneath that said 'No Gods. No Kings. Only Man.'

Wait a minute. Haven't I seen this before? I thought about it, and only the fact that I was already walking kept me from freezing up.

I remembered this. Near the end of our escape from Columbia, we'd briefly visited an underwater city. I vaguely remembered this statue, and the banner. Oh, _shit_ ; I'd only been there for five minutes, and it creeped me out, and now I had to go back!?

"This is… intense," Jack commented. I noticed he was looking at the statue.

"Yeah, let's get going before it gets _too_ intense." I knew it would, of course. There would be shooting and blood and death and—

"Hey, are you all right?" Shit! I nearly jumped when Jack spoke. "You froze up."

I am not talking about my PTSD with a guy I'd just met, even if I had to keep an eye on him, thank you very much.

"I'm fine, just thinking about stuff." I looked around, and noticed something. "I don't see any stairs leading up."

"What?" Jack looked up. "You're right. I don't think that's how lighthouses are built."

I pointed. "There _are_ stairs leading down, though."

"And I still think that's wrong."

I shrugged. "Look, we either follow the stairs, or sit here and starve while we wait for rescue, and I have a feeling that that's not happening for a while."

Jack looked like he wanted to argue for a second, then sighed and headed down the stairs. Heh, point for Booker.

We headed down the stairs, and I was faced with another familiar sight—that weird submarine-looking thing that Elizabeth and I had used to get out of the underwater city. I guess I'd be doing things in reverse today. Tonight. Whatever.

"After you," I said, gesturing to the open hatch.

Jack gave me another dirty look, but didn't argue. "Fine, but if you stab me in the back—"

"What would be the point?" I asked. Besides, I wouldn't stab him, I'd just shoot him, or electrocute him, or set him on fire, or sic a flock of birds on him. Stabbing was just so _barbaric_.

I know the twins said to stay with this guy, but I honestly didn't care too much about Jack's safety, and not just because he'd survived an exploding plane with barely a scratch. I wanted to find Elizabeth—she was my priority, nothing else. I had to find her, see that she was safe with my own eyes. Then… well, we'd kick ass until we got home, and then maybe we'd be able to live normal lives.

Once I got into the sub thing, Jack pulled the only lever in there, and we began to submerge. It was around this time that I noticed the music. Don't get me wrong, I liked 'Beyond the Sea', but there's only so much Bobby Darin I can take in one sitting. Besides, if we were going underwater, then the song was too ironic, and I'd have to hit someone.

Jack started looking distinctly uncomfortable once we were completely underwater. "Don't tell me you're afraid of the ocean. Or are you claustrophobic?"

"Neither," he muttered. "I just… this is really strange, that's all."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Dude, we both survived an exploding plane, hit the water, survived _that_ , just _happened_ to find a lighthouse in the middle of fucking nowhere, and now we're going underwater in a submarine that has velvet seats. 'Strange' doesn't begin to cover it."

"Then why aren't you freaking out?" Jack asked.

I shrugged. "I'm already fucked up in the head. One more crazy weekend isn't going to change how much therapy I need."

Probably not the nicest thing to say, but I wasn't in the best mood. I was sure I'd feel better after someone tried to murder me again. Dear god, I _am_ fucked up.

I was finally a little surprised when a projector emerged from behind us and started a little slideshow, complete with sound. First, there was what looked like an ad, showing a guy lighting a cigarette with fire from his fingertips. 'Fire at your Fingertips!' it said; it called it the 'Incinerate Plasmid' by Ryan Industries. Huh, maybe they had something like Vigors here.

" _I am Andrew Ryan,"_ a refined voice said, _"and I'm here to ask you a question: Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow? 'No,' says the man in Washington, 'it belongs to the poor'. 'No,' says the man in the Vatican, 'it belongs to God'. 'No,' says the man in Moscow, 'it belongs to everyone'._

" _I rejected those answers. Instead, I chose something different. I chose the impossible. I chose… Rapture!"_

The projector switched off, and lights turned on, showing us… whoa. It looked like New York City, only underwater! Buildings dozens of stories high, neon lights, what kind of looked like roller-coaster rails and transparent tunnels connecting everything. It would have looked almost normal, except for the coral everywhere, the schools of fish, and—holy shit, that was a whale!

I wasn't sure whether Rapture was more impressive than Columbia; I think both required a certain level of mad genius in order to pull off.

It was shame that I'd probably destroy half of it, knowing my luck. It was actually kind of majestic.

Oh, wait, Ryan was still talking.

" _A city where the artist need not fear the censor."_ Not necessarily bad. _"Where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality."_ Uh, that sounded a little twisted. _"Where the great would not be constrained by the small!"_ And I'm sure only 'great' people actually built your city, right? Ayn Rand was alive and well here. _"And with the sweat of your brow, Rapture can become your city as well."_

Blah, blah, blah. Same shit about paradise, just prettied up in different packaging.

"That guy is crazy," Jack commented, though he looked a little more rattled than me.

"Of course he is." I pointed at a tunnel, where some big guy in a diving suit was repairing a leak or something. "There's no way a place like this can last, even with constant maintenance. Where the hell did he even get the money for all this crap?"

If anyone asks, I'll deny it until the day I die, but even I jumped when the radio next to me suddenly came on.

"… _but the lighthouse is all lit up like hellfire…"_ Whoever was speaking had a pretty thick Irish accent. _"Looks like some kind of plane crash…"_

Another voice crackled as it spoke. _"We're in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean! How could it—"_

" _Dunno. You'd best get over there, and be quick about it—the splicers are coming."_ Shot in the dark here, but I'm guessing that 'splicers' are bad, and I should kill them before they kill me.

" _You've gotta be kidding me,"_ said Voice Two. _"How do you know someone's even coming?"_

" _We got a bathysphere on its way down,"_ Irish Guy said. _"That means we've got company."_

The bathysphere—apparently what they called these things—had apparently been on rails this entire time, and we were headed into a large tunnel. I caught a glimpse of more ads for those 'plasmid' things as we started to surface.

"All right, here we go," I said, and calmly drew my hand cannon. "Hey, Jack, you might want to stay behind me for a while."

"Wait, why do you have a—"

"Shut up, I'm probably about to do something cool."

Hang on, Elizabeth. I'll find you soon.

 **All right, here we go! You might be wondering why it took me four freaking years to get around to this sequel. I really don't have a reason. I was writing the next chapter for my book, and then this popped into my head. It's short, just like most of my opening chapters, but hopefully I kept the same tone as the predecessor.**

 **Also, something I want to let you all know about this story: Booker won't be the only one telling it. That's right, multiple points of view! It'll rotate between Booker, Jack, Elizabeth (when she eventually shows up), and another surprise addition to the story. However, I should warn you now that this story, like my others, will have a very sporadic update schedule. I could do two chapters in a week, or take months off, because I'm writing my own book, and I like to stay in my own universe these days.**

 **However, just because my fan fiction isn't updated frequently doesn't mean you'll have nothing to read! As I've just said, I have my own story, on my own website, which will be updated far more often than anything I do here! Just go over to my profile page and enjoy a high-stakes tale of war and intrigue in the far future! I promise that you'll enjoy it!**

 **Next Chapter: Jack tags along with Booker, but he'll soon find the power to stand on his own!**

 **Would you kindly take this Muffin?**


	2. Jack and the Madman

**BIOSHOCK DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. ONE DAY, HOWEVER, I WILL DEVELOP THE ABILITY TO SHOOT FIRE FROM MY HANDS. I JUST NEED TO GET AN ASSISTANT WHOSE ARMS DON'T EXPLODE EVERY TIME I EXPERIMENT ON HIM.**

 **All right, here we go again! Time for a new point of view!**

Bioshock: Constants and Variables

Chapter 2

Jack and the Madman

"Shut up, I'm probably about to do something cool."

Well. That's not how I expected Booker to respond. Then again, nothing he'd said or done tonight had been normal. Surviving an exploding plane and acting casual about it, or being unimpressed by the weird lighthouse in the middle of nowhere. And then he actually seemed to find being inside a tiny submarine to be… funny?

Even if he was a little unhinged, I considered him better than no company at all. At least, until he pulled out a _gun_! Did he have that on the plane!? Why!? I mean, yes, the underwater city—Rapture, that man Ryan called it—was probably full of danger, but Booker couldn't have known about any… of…

Oh. Maybe he knew more than he was letting on.

The sub jerked as it landed—or was it docked? I don't understand nautical terms—and then started to surface. One of the voices from before came through the radio.

" _O-okay, I see the 'sphere, it's comin' up now!"_

" _Johnny, security's bangin' off all over,"_ the Irish man said, _"get a move on!"_

As the sub bobbed up and down, I looked through the window and saw a man—probably Johnny—slowly backing away from someone.

"Please, lady," he begged, "I didn't mean no trespass… just don't hurt me!" That didn't sound good. "You can have my gun, you can—"

The lights flickered, just as someone, a woman, lunged at him, stabbing the poor fellow with what looked like a rusty hook. With a vicious twist, he was eviscerated.

"Aw, shit," Booker muttered. He didn't sound shocked or horrified, like how I felt; instead, he sounded disappointed.

"Is it someone new?" The woman, who wore a dirty dress and a strange mask on her face, staggered toward us, like she was drunk. Then she screamed, and jumped, far higher than she should have been able to, and landed on top of the sub. Metal shrieked as she began to peel the top away.

"Cover your ears, this always sucks the first time," Booker told me, then aimed his huge revolver up. "Fuck off, bitch!"

I brought my hands over my ears just as he pulled the trigger. Damn, that was loud! The bullet punched through the metal, and I heard a scream of pain. The woman jumped off and ran into the shadows.

"I was right," Booker muttered. "I've been here less than five minutes, and someone's already tried to kill me. Fuckin' unbelievable."

Before I could say anything, the radio turned on, and I heard the Irish man again. _"Would you kindly pick up that short-range radio?"_

I did so, thankful that it was actually portable, not built into the sub. "Hello? Who are you?"

" _I don't know how you two survived that plane crash, but I've never been one to question Providence. I'm Atlas, by the way, and I am to keep you boys alive. You should keep on moving… you'll need to get to higher ground."_

"Is it ironic that someone doesn't question Providence in a city that rejects things like religion?" Booker grinned. "I've always been bad with irony, so I'm just asking."

" _I'd like to think it is,"_ Atlas replied. _"Mind telling me your names while I get that bathysphere open?"_

"Jack," I said. I kind of liked this guy so far; he was polite, and had some kind of humor.

"I'm Booker. Say, is everyone in this city a lunatic, or was that a special case?"

" _Oh, it's nearly everyone. Rapture may sound nice, and there's plenty of water, but it's Hell down here, don't let the lack of fire fool you."_

Booker sighed. "Yeah, I knew my shitty luck would kick in soon." He brightened as the door swung open. "Okay, Cortana, where to?"

" _The name is Atlas."_

"Whatever, you're a disembodied voice that's telling us where to go and what to do. I've got at least five other names to give you, and they're all of people who can do your job."

I could almost hear Atlas rolling his eyes. _"Just get moving. If you're gonna have a safe start, we'll have to draw her out of hiding. Don't worry, I won't leave you twisting in the wind."_

Booker twirled his pistol as he started walking. "Sure, let's go. Come on, Jack; we're off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz!"

And then he started to skip. I swear, he actually _skipped_.

" _Your buddy isn't all there, is he?"_

"I don't think so," I admitted, "but he's got a gun, and he seems like he wants to help."

" _Then just be careful; friends are hard to come by these days."_

I followed after Booker, walking around rubble and ducking under fallen chunks of the building. Rapture might have looked pretty from the outside, but on the inside, it looked like a war had gone down.

" _There's a small spotlight not too far from you,"_ Atlas told us. _"As soon as you find it, stand directly underneath it… and trust me."_

"How are you tracking us?" Booker asked, looking serious again. "Are there cameras, or does the radio have a signal that you're following?"

" _Both, actually,"_ Atlas admitted. _"The cameras are few and far between, though; mostly at security stations and a few vital areas that I've been able to keep safe. For the most part, I'm following your progress on a map."_

"Okay, good, I didn't want you to go completely Big Brother on me."

"Isn't that a book?" I asked.

Booker gave me a look, though I'm not sure for what. "Yes."

We found the spotlight, and as Atlas instructed, we stood underneath it. A moment later, the crazy woman came back and screamed at us. Before Booker could aim his gun, sirens went off, and a strange machine flew out of a hole in the wall. It was a small, boxy thing, held in the air with a propeller and had a large gun underneath. The woman screamed again as the machine shot at her.

" _Ha! How do you like that, sister!?"_ Atlas crowed as the woman crawled up the wall like a spider and disappeared through another hole.

"You know, I was hoping that that would kill her," Booker said. "This means she'll probably come back."

" _Yeah, splicers don't give up easily. Sorry."_ I could almost hear Atlas shrugging. _"Now, would you kindly find a crowbar or something? Bloody splicers sealed Johnny in before they… goddamn splicers."_

That was a good idea; with a tool of some kind, I'd be able to actually do something, instead of relying on Booker or Atlas to help me. Thankfully, there was a large wrench not too far away; I gave it a few experimental swings, and found that I liked the heft.

"Do you need something, Booker?" I asked.

"Nah." Booker flicked his wrist, and what looked like a cross between a three-pronged hook and a sawblade unfolded. "I'm good."

"What the hell is that thing?"

"Skyhook," Booker said, as if that explained everything, then retracted the weapon. "Good for climbing, puzzle-solving, and dismembering my enemies."

"I'll take your word for it."

After a bit of work, I managed to smash apart the rubble blocking our path. I was about to head up the stairs, but then a flaming sofa, of all things, rolled down towards us. Booker grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back before I got hit. For the first time since coming here, I found myself wanting to hit someone; I was not going to be killed by a damn couch! There was some gibberish from someone further along, but when we got to the top of the stairs, there was no one there.

"Oh, this is going to suck," Booker muttered as we kept going. "I've seen this movie; we're gonna get ambushed any second."

I would have called him paranoid, but then two people—splicers—rushed out of the shadows, screaming like lunatics. I recognized one as the woman who had killed Johnny, and the man was probably the one who had tried to kill me with the sofa.

"Hey, bitch!" Booker rushed towards the woman, his Skyhook thing out and ready. "I've got something for you!"

What happened next was so fast that I barely saw it; Booker somehow shoved his spinning blade into the woman's arm, dragged her around, punched her in the gut, ripped out the blade and tore it across her throat, all in less than three seconds.

"On your right!" he shouted.

I swung my wrench on reflex. There was a loud _crack_ as it connected with the splicer's jaw; still, he tried to hit me with a rusty pipe. I ducked under it, then hit him in the ribs, pushed him onto his back, and swung one more time. Crazy as the man was, he didn't get back up after having his skull smashed open.

"Shit, that was messy." Booker pointed at the blood spattered across my sweater. I felt sick, and threw up; a small part of me was grateful that I'd missed both our shoes. "Easy, easy. Take a deep breath, count to four, and let it out."

I did as he said; after a minute, I felt better. "Thanks."

"No problem. You good?" I saw actual concern in his eyes, and I nodded. "Good. Hey, Atlas, where to next?"

" _Well, you boyos are gonna have to fight fire with fire. The best way to beat a splicer is to splice up yourself."_ I'm sorry, what? _"There's a plasmid nearby that'll be helpful, but I think there's only enough for one dose."_

"By 'plasmid', do you mean the weird bottles with suspicious red liquid inside of the vending machines?" Booker pointed across the room to the machine in question. A bottle sat in the dispenser, looking both inviting and terrifying.

" _Yeah, that's the one."_

Booker looked at the plasmid, then at me. "You know what? I'll let you have this one. I don't like needles."

Really? This was a man who had no problem killing people, but he was afraid of needles? Booker didn't make any sense at all. I shrugged, and picked up the plasmid; after filling up the red hypo, I stuck it in my wrist and—

Oh my god! The pain was indescribable. Everything was spinning, and it looked like the veins in my arms were glowing blue. It had to be my imagination, but I thought I saw electrical sparks jump off my fingers.

" _Steady now,"_ I faintly heard Atlas say. _"Your genetic code is being rewritten. Just calm down, and everything will be fine!"_

"That's not actually helpful!" Booker shouted.

Then I staggered over to the railing and tripped. The last thing I saw was the floor rushing up to meet me.

…

Everything still hurt when I woke up. It also felt like my skin was buzzing, which was really strange.

"Good, you're awake." I turned and saw Booker, leaning against a broken pillar, twirling his pistol like he was some kind of cowboy. "Hey, Atlas, he woke up."

" _Finally. First time plasmid's a real kick from a mule, but there's nothin' like a fistful of lightning, now, is there?"_

"Um… what?" Not the best response I've ever had, but then again, it sounded like Atlas was suggesting… but it was impossible.

"You've got a buzzing feeling in your skin, right?" Booker grinned, and pointed at a dead splicer. "Just make a throwing motion, and your plasmid thing should do the rest."

I was too confused to even question it. I pushed my left hand at the corpse; to my shock, a bolt of lightning shot out and turned the splicer's shoulder into a blackened mess. It was at that point that I realized that that splicer wasn't one who had attacked us. There was another one further away; the way his body was flopped over suggested that most of his bones were broken.

Booker seemed to figure out what I was thinking. "Some more of those assholes showed up. I took care of them. Then Atlas told me to hide from the Little Sister and the Big Daddy."

"The what and the what?"

"A little girl, creepy glowing eyes, and a big bastard in a diving suit with a drill for an arm." I was starting to get unnerved by how calm Booker was acting about all this. "I didn't want you to get stepped on if I tried taking on the Big Daddy, so I got you out of sight until they were gone."

"Uh-huh." I think my brain was finally working again. "How did you know how to teach me about the lightning?"

Booker grinned and held up a fist. Lightning crackled across it, then fire, and then… feathers? "Let's just say that this isn't my first rodeo."

" _Now that that's settled,"_ Atlas said, _"there's a door across the room, but it's locked. Would you kindly shock the control panel on the left to open it up?"_

"Sure, I could use the practice." I took careful aim and fired another bolt. The panel fizzled, and then the door slid open.

It turned out that the door led to a long tunnel to another building; we didn't get very far before a part of the plane finally reached our depth and slammed into the tunnel.

"Seriously?" Booker sounded more annoyed than alarmed. "What are the odds that _that_ would happen?"

I saw cracks begin to spread across the glass; it was only a matter of time before the whole thing shattered, and we drowned. "Just run!"

Thankfully, we made it to the other side and closed the door behind us before the whole thing collapsed. Atlas took the opportunity to start talking again.

" _I've got something up ahead. More splicers. Say, Jack, why don't you try out that Electro Bolt of yours again? Yours probably won't be strong enough to kill 'em outright, but any good whack to the head will finish 'em after you zap 'em."_

Booker grinned. "Don't worry, I've got your back."

"Thanks." Something that bothered me was how quickly I stopped caring about killing people. Then again, if all the splicers were as crazy as the last ones, I'd have to kill if I wanted to live.

The first splicer I saw had his back to me, which let me hesitate for a second. Then I hit him with the Electro Bolt; he jerked and flailed while electricity danced around him. He was just starting to scream when I crushed his skull with my wrench.

" _That's it, boyo,"_ Atlas said. _"Zap 'em, then whack 'em. Fun trick: if you electrocute water that has splicers in it, your job's gonna be a lot easier."_

"Ooh, I know that trick!" Booker grinned again. "In fact, I have something I want to try!"

Part of me was worried, but another part was more enthusiastic; Booker might have been unstable, but he seemed to know what he was doing.

The next time we ran into a splicer, Booker held up his hand to stop me. "When I say so, zap him," he whispered.

I nodded, and Booker drew back one arm; for an instant, his arm turned rubbery, and angry red suckers emerged. Then he pushed forward, and a tendril of water pulled the splicer right towards him! Booker clotheslined the splicer, knocking him down, and he nodded at me. The splicer was soaked by Booker's plasmid, and died pretty fast after I shocked him.

"Okay, we need to remember that one," Booker said.

The next group of splicers was mindlessly standing around in a large puddle. I didn't even look at Booker for permission, and just zapped the water. This time, the splicers died screaming; unfortunately, this caught the attention of several more splicers, and there wasn't a convenient body of water to kill them all.

"Time to get to work." Booker put a bullet in the head of one splicer, then threw a ball of fire at two more.

Booker was… clearly more experienced at fighting than I was. He killed every splicer that came near him, and it looked like he was barely putting any effort into it. The only time he even got hit did nothing; a yellow light flashed over his body, but he was completely unaffected. The offending splicer had his throat slashed open for his troubles.

I, on the other hand, was having a bit more trouble. There were only a few splicers for me to deal with, but all I had was my wrench and my Electro Bolt. I killed two with the zap-and-whack, but another hit me in the back with a club and knocked me down. To my shock, the splicer was attacked by the other remaining one, who was glowing… green? After shoving one hook through the splicer's eye, my 'rescuer' did the same thing to himself.

"Yikes." I turned to see Booker lowering his hand, which had green wisps floating around it. "It's been a while since I've used that one. I almost forgot how creepy it is."

"What was that?" I asked.

"Possession," he said. "It makes enemies fight for me, and after a while, they kill themselves. It also works on some machines, which is awesome." He starting rifling through the dead splicers' clothes, pulling out money, bullets, and a few hypos filled with blue liquid. "Why would these idiots have bullets, but no gun? Also, Atlas?"

" _Yeah?"_

"I found some needles filled with blue stuff. What is it?"

" _We call it EVE. Basically, it gives you more energy for your plasmids."_

Come to think of it, I did feel a little strange; thirsty, in a way, but I didn't want a drink. Maybe that was my body's way of telling me that I was out of 'juice' for my plasmid.

"Huh. I was wondering about that." Booker tossed me two of the hypos. "Better recharge before the next fight. And, yes, there's going to be another one. There's _always_ another one."

I injected myself with the EVE, and immediately felt better. Booker, however, cracked the lid off of his and drank it.

"Oh, that tastes gross." He shuddered, then clenched his hand; lightning danced across it. "Yeah, that's the stuff. All right, Atlas, next destination?"

" _There's an elevator not too far from you. Get inside, and I'll get you to where you need to go."_ Thankfully, there weren't any more splicers along the way, so I had the chance to catch my breath. _"Listen… I have a family. I need to get them out of here, but the splicers have cut me off from them. If you can reach them in Neptune's Bounty, then maybe, just maybe…"_

It was clear that Atlas wanted our help. He hadn't steered us wrong yet, and no one should live in a crazy place like this. I glanced at Booker, but he was unreadable; maybe he was slower to trust than me, even if Atlas had helped us earlier.

" _I know that you two must feel like the unluckiest men in the world right now,"_ Atlas continued, _"but you're the only hope I'll ever see my wife and child again. Go to Neptune's Bounty… find my family… please."_

I opened my mouth to speak, but Booker beat me to it. "Favor for a favor, buddy," he said, more serious than I'd ever seen him. "We'll find your family, but I'm also looking for someone, and you've got more eyes and ears than me. Even if I find her before I find your family, I'll still help you, I promise."

"… _Who're you looking for?"_

"Her name is Elizabeth." The way Booker lingered on her name made me think that she was his sweetheart or something. "Short, dark hair, might be appearing in different parts of the city way too fast to be normal."

" _Haven't seen anyone like that recently, but I'll keep an eye out. If I can, I'll send some security bots to keep her safe."_

Booker laughed. "I'm sure she'd appreciate the gesture, but she's the last person who needs protecting."

"She's got plasmids?" I asked.

Booker just smirked; I would have pressed for more, but then the elevator finally arrived, and the door opened. We'd just started heading towards a restaurant that was on the way to Neptune's Bounty—there were helpful maps all over the place that told us where we were—when we heard a voice. It was a woman, and as we crept closer, we saw her standing over a baby carriage, cooing over something that was too still to be alive.

Booker pointed to himself, then the woman; he'd take care of it. I nodded, and Booker unfolded his skyhook, drew it back like it was about to punch… and then he moved like a bullet, his spinning blade neatly decapitating the woman. I don't know what kind of plasmid that was, but I liked it.

"Huh, wonder what she was looking at." Booker glanced into the carriage, made a face, and pulled out a large revolver that was similar to his own. "I think this puts a whole new spin on the term 'gun nut'. Here, Jack, take it."

He handed the gun to me, along with some of the bullets he'd picked up before; apparently, they were the right size for both of our pistols.

" _Plasmids changed everything,"_ Atlas commented. _"They destroyed our bodies, our minds… we couldn't handle it. Best friends butchering each other, babies strangled in cribs… the whole city went to hell."_

And I had put one of those things inside me!? My only hope was that I would only turn into a gibbering mess if I used a lot more. I mean, Booker had more than one plasmid, and he was a little off.

I didn't have much time to think about that, though, because as soon as we entered the restaurant, we were attacked by another group of splicers. Booker knocked most of them down with that water plasmid, soaking the splicers and leaving a convenient puddle for me to electrocute. I ducked under a hatchet used by another splicer, aimed my pistol at point-blank range, and pulled the trigger. My hand bucked from the recoil, but the shot blew a large hole in the splicer's gut; he wasn't dead, but a quick blow from my wrench finished the job.

By the time I was done, Booker had killed the surviving splicers and was already rummaging through their belongings.

"Why are you doing that?" I asked.

"They don't need it," Booker said, pocketing some cash, bullets and EVE hypos. He tossed some ammunition and EVE my way as well. "Trust me, in a place like this, it's a good idea to have as much stuff on hand as possible. By the way, you're bleeding."

"What?" I realized that blood was trickling down my face, and this time, it was mine. I must have taken a graze from that hatchet.

"Here you go." Booker cracked open a first aid kit that he'd taken from a splicer and stopped the bleeding. He then put his hand on my shoulder; yellow light crackled over me, cleaning off not just the blood on my face, but the spatter and other filth that had quickly covered me.

"Just how many tricks do you have?" I asked.

Booker laughed. "Dude, I haven't even shown you half of what I can do. And that last one was just part of my shield; it cleans stuff off me, and anyone I touch. Very useful for getting rid of blood-borne pathogens."

Oh, so that explained why Booker was not only unhurt, but why he was spotless. Maybe that shield had a limit, but it was still useful, and I found myself wanting one.

After thoroughly looting everything that could be useful—including some vacuum-sealed food, because we were getting hungry—we made our way out. Unfortunately, the only way to the next area was through the restroom, which stank more than normal, and had a giant hole going out the back. A length of scaffolding made for a makeshift bridge, which seemed to go over some kind of studio.

Why would a restaurant be right next to a studio? Wouldn't that be disruptive? Never mind, the idea of Rapture was strange enough; if I tried thinking about it too much, I'd just give myself a headache.

"Oh, shit, there she is again," Booker whispered, and pointed down.

The radio squeaked, and I quickly lowered the volume. _"Careful, now,"_ Atlas said. _"Would you kindly lower your weapon?"_

There, bleeding out on the floor, was a dead splicer. Standing over his body, however, was a little girl in a pink dress. I quickly put my gun away; I wasn't going to shoot a kid.

"What's a child doing here?" I asked quietly.

" _You think that's a child down there?"_ Atlas' sneer was obvious. _"Don't be fooled. She's a Little Sister now. Somebody went and turned a sweet baby girl into a monster. Whatever you thought about right and wrong on the surface… well, that don't count for much down in Rapture."_ I was starting to feel sick again as Booker and I made our way down to a booth; the 'Little Sister' now had a thick sheet of glass between her and us. _"Those Little Sisters… they carry ADAM—the genetic material that keeps the wheels of Rapture turning. Everybody wants it. Everybody needs it."_

I was about to ask how the Little Sisters 'carried' the ADAM, but then I saw it. She took a strange device tipped with a long needle and shoved it into the corpse. On the other end of the tool was a red vial, which began to fill and glow. As soon as she was done, the girl tipped it back into her mouth and drank the substance.

"Oh my god," I whispered.

"What the actual _fuck_!?" Booker hissed. "I've seen some shit, but that's easily in the top five! How the fuck did anyone let… oh."

"What?"

"Ryan said it himself: 'Where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality'. This is a city where anyone could do anything they wanted, and someone let their inner Frankenstein out to play."

Before I could comment, a door next to the Little Sister opened, and a splicer walked in. He looked around, then walked towards the girl. She let out a scream, and he hit her in the head with the butt of his pistol. He didn't get much further before a deep roar shook the room, and the far wall exploded inward. A hulking creature that wore something vaguely like a diving suit charged in; the splicer fired a few rounds, but if they did any damage, the monster didn't notice.

The creature drew back its right arm, which was tipped with a large drill instead of a hand, and charged. The spinning drill punched through the splicer's chest and out his back; he then ripped the drill back out, grabbed the splicer by the face and slammed him into the glass in front of us.

"Get down!" Booker said, pulling me to the floor.

A moment later, the mangled remains of the splicer smashed through the glass. When we looked up again, the dozen lenses dotting the creature's helmet had gone from red to green, and it was cradling the Little Sister like she was its own. It then lumbered off; either it hadn't seen us, or it didn't consider us a threat.

" _That's the Big Daddy,"_ Atlas explained. _"She gathers ADAM, he keeps her safe."_

"Okay, great." I swallowed nervously. "I vote we try avoiding both of them."

"Seconded," Booker said, but he sounded tired. "But our luck sucks, so we'll probably have to deal with them eventually." He shook his head. "Come on, let's get moving."

We had to break down a gate, but we made our way to a large pavilion that connected to several different passages. One of them had a glowing neon sign that read 'Neptune's Bounty', which meant that we were close to Atlas' family.

As soon as we set foot in the pavilion, though, alarms began to blare, and splicers poured in from the level above us.

"I'll keep them distracted," Booker said calmly. Feathers shot out of his arms, which then turned into a flock of… birds? What? Regardless of how little sense that made, the birds swarmed a group of splicers. Those that weren't pecked to death died to bullets, or fell into the large fountain that I then electrocuted.

" _It's Ryan!"_ Atlas shouted. _"Goddamn Andrew Ryan, he's found us! Dammit!"_ There was a sound of grinding metal. _"He's shut off access to Neptune… there's another way to get there—head to Medical! Just turn right and follow the signs! What are you waiting for? Go!"_

Considering the number of different voices I heard shouting in the distance, running away seemed like the best option. Booker seemed to agree, because he didn't even hesitate. We tore down the hallway, only turning when we saw signs pointing to Medical.

" _There's an hatch that will take you through a shortcut to Medical,"_ Atlas said as we ran. _"I can seal off the room long enough to bypass the security door, but be careful!"_

I think Atlas had a different idea of what 'sealing off' meant, because as soon as we got to the room in question, a pair of flimsy metal fences popped up. Still, it was enough to let us catch our breath… for about ten seconds.

"Dude, I want a flatscreen that big," Booker muttered as a wall-sized TV slid down from a slot in the ceiling. It flickered to life, and the face of a man, the top half hidden by a fedora, appeared.

" _So tell me, friend, which one of the bitches sent you?"_ The man's voice was condescending, but there was also a deep hatred behind it. _"The KGB wolf? Or the CIA jackal? Here's the news: Rapture isn't some sunken ship for you to plunder, and Andrew Ryan isn't a giddy socialite who can be slapped around by government muscle. And with that, farewell, or_ dasvidania _, whichever you prefer."_

The image disappeared, not that we cared, because a mob of splicers began banging on the glass and gates. Thankfully, the large door opened behind us.

" _I got it!"_ Atlas shouted. _"Get out of there! Get out!"_

We jumped into the passageway; the doors closed seconds before the splicers broke through. I took a deep breath and tried to stop my hands from shaking as we headed to the only other door in the area.

" _Now you've met Andrew Ryan, the bloody King of Rapture. Take a second to breathe, and then find your way to Emergency Access."_

"Yeah, not a bad idea," Booker said, and I think it was the first time he had completely agreed with anything that Atlas had suggested.

" _Oh, and Booker?"_

"What?"

" _About that girl of yours… I think I found her."_

 **Yeah, ending on a cliffhanger there. Sorry. However, just a heads up, the next chapter will not be Booker and Jack following the canon (expect that to diverge as time goes on, though). Instead, we're going to be looking at a bit of a side-story that will eventually link up with our current duo.**

 **Also, I wanted to get this chapter out sooner, but, as I've said before, my book comes first. If you love stories with suspense, action—heck, even genetic manipulation and super-people—then check out my website. There's a link on my profile page, and I'm sure you'll enjoy my story!**

 **Next Chapter: Elizabeth arrives in Rapture, and her adventure has an even rougher start than Booker's…**

 **Welcome to Rapture, the world's fastest-growing pile of Muffins.**


	3. Elizabeth and the Rough Start

**BIOSHOCK DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. STILL ISN'T STOPPING ME FROM HIRING A SCIENTIST TO DO CRAZY STUFF FOR ME.**

 **Here we go, the next entry in our tale of miserable people in horrible situations. Enjoy!**

Bioshock: Constants and Variables

Chapter 3

Elizabeth and the Rough Start

As much as I like my life now, I will admit that I am not a happy person. I've enjoyed many things since Booker rescued me from Columbia, but it's hard to be truly _happy_ when you know that something horrible could happen at any moment.

Granted, yes, that could be said for every living person, but worrying about tripping over your shoelaces kind of pales in comparison to worrying about when you have to go to another time and place to deal with people who want to murder you. So forgive me if I feel like my problems are a little bigger than most.

"It is time," Robert had said as he appeared.

"You must fulfill your end of the bargain," Rosalind had added. "Once you do, your debt is paid."

I very much wanted to punch the Luteces when they showed up in our home. I knew that I had to honor the deal I'd made with them, if only because I wanted to be different than Comstock. He went back on the deal, or tried to, and that only caused more misery.

At least I was better prepared than I was in Columbia. I could fight, and I had more control over my powers. I still didn't know what my limits were, but I had a feeling that I could handle most situations. And if I couldn't, I'd have Booker at my side to—

"Mister DeWitt will not be joining you," Robert had said, as if reading my mind. He didn't really, of course; he simply saw all the variables, and interrupted my thoughts based on how many constants shared a commonality at that point in time.

I'd tried explaining that to Booker once; he'd gotten a dazed look on his face. I love him, but trying to explain the threads of space-time to him is like trying to teach a monkey to play the piano with a chainsaw—utterly pointless, and a waste of a piano.

But, back to the point. "I thought the agreement was that Booker and I would _both_ be part of this."

"And he will be," Rosalind said, "but his part of the task requires that he be elsewhere."

I looked down at Booker, still asleep—and I could see that the twins had nudged the cosmic threads around him, keeping him 'frozen' in time. I _could_ undo it, I had the power, but it would take some effort, and fighting the twins would cause all sorts of problems. The planet would likely either be reset to the Dark Ages, or just explode.

"Will he be all right?" I asked. I could have looked at the threads myself, but the more I became involved with the flow of time, the harder it was to read it.

"You have both been preparing for this," Rosalind reminded me. "The odds are in your favor."

"Far more than they were last time," Robert added.

I blinked and turned to Rosalind. "Did you just quote the Hunger Games?"

She didn't answer, of course, but I swore she almost smiled.

"Something to begin the trip," Robert said, handing me a bag. Inside was a change of clothes, as well as a yellow bottle, one that I recognized.

"You want me to have a barrier?"

"Similar, but different," Rosalind said. "Your tasks will require more… subtlety than what your partner is capable of."

"This will render you invisible for short periods of time," Robert clarified.

I'll admit, without a shield like Booker's, charging into combat didn't appeal to me. Then again, I'd discovered that I had a talent in moving quietly. Sneaking around would be much easier now.

I took the bag and went to the bathroom to change. The clothes were nice—a white blouse with black cuffs and collar, and a black skirt and stockings. The skirt was short, but comfortable enough to run in, which I was sure I'd have to. The shoes had high heels—not quite stilettos, and wider, so that I wouldn't fall down.

Unlike Booker, I didn't have a gun, or a skyhook; the one I'd used in Columbia had been destroyed. Instead, I had a pair of knives, each hidden in a sheath attached to my forearms, and could be concealed by my sleeves. With a flick of a wrist, a knife would fall into my waiting hand. When I'd shown him, Booker had called me Ezio for a week, and couldn't stop laughing. He slept on the couch for that week, but he said it was worth it.

Even without any weapons, I was reasonably sure that I could handle anything thrown my way. After all, I could alter reality—to an extent, anyway. Granted, I didn't enjoy using that kind of power; I didn't like the idea of it going to my head. Booker had once told me that I'd only have to use it for the Last Job—we'd started saying it with capital letters, but I don't know when—and then we could live normal lives.

'Normal lives'. The idea sometimes made me laugh. I don't even know what constitutes as 'normal' for me; I barely counted as a human being. I never shared those thoughts with Booker; he had enough to deal with, and didn't need my problems piled on top of that.

"All right, I'm ready," I said quietly.

Rosalind looked me up and down and nodded approvingly. "Very good. I know that you do not _need_ our help to get to your destination…"

"But we can make it a little easier on you," Robert finished.

"Very well." I looked down at Booker again. "Just be sure not to put him in too much risk, at least in the beginning? It's been a while for him."

"We shall do our best." Something made me suspect that they were lying, but I knew they wouldn't put Booker in anything he couldn't survive. They cared about us, in their roundabout way, and they didn't want me to go to war with them.

With that done, I concentrated, looking for the pathway I needed to walk. I opened the Tear, took a step—

…

—and found myself standing in a puddle of blood.

I scowled. I'd been in Rapture for two seconds, and my shoes were already ruined. Fine, whatever; I reached into another timeline and snagged perfectly good shoes off the corpse of an Elizabeth that had died from an unlucky headshot and swapped them out. I made sure to close the Tear, just in case something tried coming in from the other side.

It never bothered me to observe, or even interact with, other versions of myself. Some of them were alive, and I—we? Sometimes even I got confused—shared information. The ones that died were ones I studied, so that I wouldn't make the same mistakes they did. It felt perfectly natural, like looking into a mirror. I didn't tell Booker about it, though I'm sure he suspected. He called it 'one of those things that made his head explode', and never asked for details. The only thing he wanted was to know if I needed his help for anything.

Now, where was I? I knew I was in Rapture, many variables had us coming here, so I knew some general facts about it, but—ah, there was a helpful map, like one at a mall. I was somewhere near Medical, but all my routes there were blocked; the tunnels had collapsed and filled with seawater. There were hardly any variables that had Booker and I coming to Rapture in its heyday; instead, we'd come to an era when it was crumbling around us.

I felt a tiny Tear appear in my hand, which quickly vanished. I looked down, and saw a note, written in Rosalind's flowing handwriting.

 _Go up._

Thank you, that was extremely helpful.

I looked around the filthy room—it looked like an old apartment complex—and found a flight of stairs. There were a few bodies of people with misshapen features—some looked like genetic mutations, others looked surgically altered. I was glad that most were wearing masks, because those that weren't were horrifying. All of them looked recently killed, likely some kind of territorial dispute with another group. I stepped around the corpses and went up the stairs, idly pocketing some cash as I went. It was a habit I'd picked up from Booker, but it would probably save my life.

There was loud footsteps up ahead. I froze. If this approaching person was hostile, it would be the first time I'd really have to fight on my own.

I had to survive. I wouldn't let Booker be alone after only a few minutes.

"Well, well," a raspy voice said as its owner saw me from the top of the stairs. "What have we here?"

The man was nothing impressive. He was skinny, almost skeletal, and his ragged clothes hung off his frame. His face was covered by a burlap sack with eye-holes, and he carried a rusty pipe in one hand.

"Hello," I said, trying to sound cheerful. "I don't suppose you know your way around here, sir?"

"Name's Cleetus, pretty thing," the man said as he walked towards me. "And I know all about this building. It's mine, see?"

"That's wonderful," I said, hoping I didn't sound too droll. "Do you think you could show me the way to…" Come to think of it, I didn't actually _know_ where I was going. "To Medical? I don't feel too well."

Cleetus looked me up and down. I could feel his disgusting leer. "You don't look sick, pretty thing. Even if you was, you don't want to go to Medical. The docs there ain't nice. If they got ahold of you, you wouldn't look so pretty." He tilted his head, and I think he smiled. "Why don't you come with me, pretty thing? Maybe, if you're good, I'll give you some Adam as a reward."

Ah, so that's what he was suggesting. Well, that wasn't happening, but I doubted he'd just let me pass if I refused. I had a feeling I'd need to fight, and he had reach with that pipe.

"That sounds wonderful!" I took a few steps forward, until I was inside his reach. "Let's be off."

Cleetus started to chuckle, but it turned to a bloody gurgle when I slid one of my knives free and rammed it into his throat. I stepped around and pulled the knife out to avoid the bloody spray that followed. The corpse tumbled down the steps, twitched once, and was still.

I took a moment to process what I'd done. I'd killed before, back in Columbia, but never like that. It made me appreciate what Booker had gone through, what he was likely _still_ going through.

The noise would draw others; from the bodies I'd seen earlier, I doubted Cleetus was alone, and I didn't want to fight my way through hordes of thugs. Better to be more subtle on my way to Booker. I took a moment to get a grasp on the concoction the twins had given me, and vanished.

It was an odd sensation, turning invisible, and it was even more surreal when I tried looking at my hands; I couldn't see my own body, which meant I had to do everything by imagining my limbs being where I felt them. I wished I'd had time to practice a bit, but the Luteces wouldn't have given me that time.

After a few stumbling steps, I made it to the far wall and waited as a group of other misshapen people charged down a hallway and to the top of the stairs.

"Hey, Cleetus is dead!" one shouted.

"Get his Adam!" Another pushed past the group. "I know he's got some on him!"

I watched in detached horror as they descended on the body and tore it apart, but I knew I had to keep moving. Just because I was invisible didn't mean I was safe, and if the slight fatigue was anything to go by, I couldn't maintain it for long. Rather than let it drain more of my energy, I focused and canceled it early, once I was sure I wouldn't be noticed.

Another mini-Tear appeared, along with another note. This one was from Robert; his handwriting was slightly sharper, something I think he did deliberately, so that I could tell who was sending what.

 _Go to Medical. Watch out for the Big Daddy. Avoid the large Tear. Do not try to close it. You'll die._

Oh, great, I was dealing with an anomalous quantum bridge. They weren't necessarily dangerous to anyone else, unless I tried to interact with it. They were basically my Kryptonite, causing a severe allergic reaction that nearly killed me the first and only time I'd tried messing with one. Afterwards, Booker practically begged me to never get near one, which was probably a smart thing for him to do; my own curiosity might have caused me to try anyway.

I made my way down a series of hallways, occasionally stopping to listen for someone who would want to hurt me. Despite only having limited knowledge of this place, I knew that that included about ninety-nine percent of the city.

I was surprised when I heard loud, clomping footsteps; for a moment, I was back in Columbia, watching a Handyman make his way toward Booker with fists raised. I shook the thought away; there were no Handymen here. Instead, what rounded the corner was a hulking figure in a modified diving suit. It carried a large rivet gun in one hand, but it didn't aim in my direction. In fact, it didn't appear to notice me at all.

Well, time to test that hypothesis. I stood to the side and watched it pass; the creature—the Big Daddy—paused as it reached me, but only gave me a passing glance before moving on. Ah, so that's what it was; it responded to threats, and I was being nonthreatening. I doubt I'd be so lucky in the future, but it was something to be aware of. Perhaps I could take advantage of that.

Another map pointed me in the direction of Medical, but to my frustration, I had been going further away. I'd have to cut through another group of living quarters to get there. I didn't have to look into the infinite tapestry of possibility to know that my odds of avoiding trouble weren't good.

Sure enough, the apartment complex was even shoddier than the first one. The floors were mostly rotted wood and half-welded sheets of metal, and the walls were so covered in mold that I couldn't tell what they were supposed to look like.

"Hey, you hear about Jake?"

"Yeah, he got killed messing with a Daddy. Idiot."

I froze, then belatedly turned invisible at the sound of voices. They didn't sound nice, and I wasn't taking any chances.

"But did you hear what he almost got?" The first voice sounded… hungry.

"I'm not stupid," the second snapped back. "The only reason you mess with a Daddy is because he found a Sister."

"Wish he'd got her," the first said wistfully. "We could'a jumped him for all that Adam."

The second sighed. "Yeah…"

What was Adam, and why was it so important? I only knew basic information on Rapture—it was meant to be a utopia, free from politics, greed, or religion, and then it had all fallen apart in a civil war. The more I used my powers to learn and become involved with a certain time and place, however, the more I'd become anchored to it. After a while, it would be hard, maybe even impossible, to return home.

I crept across the room, trying hard not to make any sound. It was difficult when the wood creaked, and my shoes clattered over the metal, but I did well enough to avoid the two men… until I realized that the only way forward was past them, and there just wasn't enough room to squeeze through without touching them. I'd have to kill them.

I drew both knives and snuck up on them. I put one knife through the spine of the one on the right, dropping him instantly. The second, however, turned at the last second and just got stabbed in the shoulder. He swung his rusty pipe in reflex, and caught me in the jaw.

Pain was something I had a high tolerance for. After being tortured in Columbia, there just wasn't a whole lot that could make me flinch. Still, being hit in the face with a pipe doesn't feel good, and I was knocked to the ground.

"You bitch!" the man shouted as I reappeared. He stood over me and raised his pipe for another blow.

I did the first thing I could think of. I brought up one foot and drove it between his legs. I think I heard something break, and it wasn't my shoe. The man fell to his knees, screaming, and the floor chose that moment to give out under us.

It wasn't a long drop, only about ten feet or so, but have you fallen ten feet onto your back? It isn't fun. For a moment, I couldn't breathe, but when I saw the man starting to get up, I acted. I threw myself forward and brought my elbow down on his throat. He choked and sputtered; I grabbed his head and slammed it down on the floor, over and over, until brain matter leaked from his broken skull.

With that over, I took a deep breath. Was this how Booker managed before getting his weapons and Vigors? He mentioned only having a skyhook at first, and I knew those made quite a mess. Compared to that, I suppose I got off relatively easy.

Once I got my breath back, I got to my feet. I wasn't too hurt, though I had a nasty scrape and a bruise forming on my jaw, and blood was trickling down the side of my throat. I held my sleeve against the cut to stop the bleeding, but I knew I was a mess. Twenty minutes in, and I had blood everywhere; the worst part was that most of it was mine.

I was about to retrieve my knives, but then a horrible cough clawed its way out of my throat. I fell to my knees, throat and eyes burning. I knew what this was, but where… oh. The Tear, the one that Robert had warned me about, was right in front of me. I could feel it tearing me apart, bit by bit, from the inside out. I had to get away!

Coughing all the while, unable to see with my eyes burning, I crawled away from the Tear. with every inch that I put between me and that stupid thing, I could feel a little bit of my strength returning. I made it to the far wall and leaned against it; I spat out blood, then rubbed my eyes until my vision cleared.

My sight had barely returned when something came out of the Tear. That… shouldn't have been possible, unless someone like me was manipulating it, and even I couldn't touch that kind of Tear. Even the Luteces didn't go near them! Who had that kind of power?

I didn't get a chance to wonder further, because a thin figure in a diving suit crossed the distance between us in a single leap and landed on top of me. I felt one leg snap under the sudden pressure; torture or not, breaking a leg _hurts_. I opened my mouth to scream, but the figure shrieked, and then the last thing I saw was a gloved fist hurtling towards my face.

This was _not_ a good way to start the day.

 **So, yeah… that happened. I decided not to go with the DLC stuff for Elizabeth, except maybe mentioning it once in a while, and instead do my own thing. And, yes, that was a Big Sister that knocked her out. Reasons will be given later.**

 **Now, as you obviously noticed, this chapter was a bit on the shorter side. This is because this was an introduction to Elizabeth's part of the adventure, and she's already off to a rough start.**

 **Another reason is that I just don't have the time to write very much right now. I published my first book a couple months back (please go check it out via my profile page! I'm literally begging!), and I'm working on a sequel. However, sales aren't as good as I'd hoped, and I'm** _ **really**_ **short on cash right now. I'd appreciate it if you bought my eBook, because the more sales I have, the more time I can devote to my stories here.**

 **Next chapter: Booker gets the bad news, and is understandably pissed off. People tend to die when that happens.**

 **Is a Muffin not entitled to the crumbs of his brow?**


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